


KAIROS

by beingxwest



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Fluff, M/M, Poor Dorian, Sickfic, These boys need a hug, Whump, badthingshappenbingo:shaking and shivering, because he's sick but also because Chaol is clueless, chaol is the most oblivous person, chaol westfall - Freeform, chaorian - Freeform, dorian havilliard - Freeform, hurt/ comfort, prompt, prompt: shaking and shivering, there's a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingxwest/pseuds/beingxwest
Summary: Kairos: the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement. // Chaol goes on a sudden trip to do business for the king, but after about a week and a half, suddenly nothing makes sense. This is what he knows: He has no idea what he’s doing. Dorian doesn’t love him back. Dorian is missing. It turns out that he’s only right about one of these things, but Dorian’s got a solution for that one. // This was written for the prompt "shaking and shivering" for badthingshappenbingo.





	KAIROS

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been beta-ed or even really edited (I will hopefully get to that soon!), but I wanted to go ahead and post it! Please tell me what you think! You can find me on tumblr (and make fic requests) on my writeblr blog: @orphicodysseywrites! This is a badthingshappenbingo fic, of course, so the blog where those are being posted is @comfortthosecharacters. 
> 
> I have some mixed feelings about this one-shot, but I've decided to post it anyway. Let me know what you think!

**_Kairos: the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement_ **

There's something wrong with Dorian.

He's not entirely sure what, but he knows that he woke up shivering so hard that his teeth are chattering, too, and he's shaking so hard that it's difficult to move at all. He doesn't remember what happened (something must've happened - he's freezing cold, and he's pretty sure his clothes are soaking wet, so something had to have happened; the fact that he doesn't remember what, exactly, it is only more alarming) or how he got into his bed, but he isn't entirely sure that he wants to.

What he would like to know, however, is _where is Chaol?_

Maybe it's pathetic, maybe his father would have some particularly choice things to say about his son being so helpless that all he can do is wait - and pray, pray, pray - for the Captain of the castle guard to come to his rescue. But Dorian is too weak to bring himself to care much about what his father would have to say, and that's all he wants at this point: for Chaol to burst in through his bedroom door and figure out what the hell is wrong with him.

This isn't likely for several reasons, including the fact that it's the middle of the night, and Chaol is probably asleep, and maybe Chaol isn't even here. Dorian doesn't know why, but he has the most bizarre memory of Chaol telling him goodbye and leaving a room (he thinks they were talking in the library, but he's not sure - the memory is too blurry around the edges for him to be certain) and feeling so sure that Chaol wouldn't be back for a while.

Which is weird, on so many levels, but mostly because Chaol would never leave him. Chaol would never, ever leave him. This is something that Dorian has known his whole life - it is a postulate, certain just like everything else that everyone knows.

The sky is blue. Grass is green. Chaol would never abandon him.

Few things in Dorian's life are absolutely certain, and that's one. It's the only thing that keeps him from going completely out of his mind as he lays in his bed (he's mostly sure it's his bed, anyway, the blankets tangled around him feel like his own), sometimes shifting just enough to try and get warmer, but only shivering harder as a result.

He feels more miserable than he ever has in his whole life. His head is beginning to pound, his body is starting to ache. Even breathing kind of hurts. To make matters worse on the breathing front, too, he's beginning to cough with such force that his whole body jerks as a result. His lungs are burning.

But Chaol will come find him. Of course he will. He always does.

Dorian just has to be patient. Chaol will be there eventually.

Dorian squeezes his eyes shut a little bit tighter as a particularly harsh shiver racks his body. He hugs his knees to his chest. He wants to hate the way he's shaking, but he doesn't have the energy, and he hates that, too.

He's exhausted. Chaol will find him - if nothing else, he'll come looking for him in the morning, and if Dorian hasn't recovered by then, Chaol will deal with it.

When the darkness washes over Dorian, he doesn't try to fight it. He doesn't have the strength. Besides, Chaol will find him eventually. He doesn't have anything to worry about.

-/-

It's a hard day's ride back to Rifthold, but Chaol doesn't do more than enter the meeting room before he realizes that there's something wrong back home. As exhausted as he is, he isn't going to let that feeling go - Chaol knows better than to ignore his instincts.

Something is wrong, and even though he rode most of yesterday just to get to this town late last night, after travelling for several days before that, and he hasn't even begun to recover from that bit of overexertion yet, he doesn't even bother making eye contact with those already in the meeting chambers before he's darting right back out into the corridor and heading back to the inn that he spent the night in. No one shouts after him or demands that he at least stay to pay his respects (and the respects of His Majesty, the King of Adarlan and Her Empire) to the hosting Lord's son and daughter. It's clue enough that something really is wrong - what he just did, he knows, would never be tolerated if something weren't well and truly wrong.

_And the people in that room know what it is_ , he realizes. He stops dead in his tracks as that seeps in. It takes every ounce of willpower in his body to keep himself from turning around and shaking an explanation out of one of them.

He doesn't have that kind of time.

So Chaol bolts forward, heading to collect his few belongings from his room at the inn. He sounds almost like a one-man stampede as he hauls ass up the stairs, and it takes his usually calm-under-pressure hands three tries to fit the key into the lock of the room he stayed in the night before. When he finally gets the door open, it bangs up against the wall just behind it so loudly that Chaol jumps as he walks by. It doesn't take long to gather the satchel of papers and the bag of extra necessities that he brought with him for the journey. On his way out, he doesn't bother calling for the inn's owner or an employee at the desk. Instead, he just drops his room key on the beat up wooden desk, along with a stack of coins that might be considered generous, considering the length of his stay at the inn.

He's on his horse not a half-hour after he dashed out of the meeting hall. Hot on his heels are the two younger members of the palace guard that came with him. It was a good call to tell them to stay at the inn while he went to the meeting - they were ready to leave as soon as he came crashing in through the front door. Waiting on them probably wouldn't have done anything to ease the fire burning in his middle.

He feels like he's burning up from the inside out, he's so angry.

It'll be a hard day's ride, but they won't stop until they reach the palace.

Chaol has always known when it's Dorian, when something is wrong with Dorian, when he needs him. It's that feeling of an open flame reaching inside him and wrapping around his heart, squeezing and burning and making him push his poor horse even faster.

It's Dorian, he just knows it. He has to get to him.

-/-

They get back to the palace just after nightfall. Still, the city is wide awake, and the palace is even busier than usual. The stables are nearly empty, Chaol notices, even though there should be a group of new guards doing a round of weekly weapons-on-horseback training and stable duty around this time.

Behind him, the two younger guards are being helped off of their horses. They're glaring at Chaol's back like he's hell itself, and Chaol can hear them going back and forth under their breaths as he rushes to get his belongings off of his saddle and brush down his horse.

"I just can't believe it," one of them is hissing to another guard, one that didn't accompany them to the meeting-that-never-happened, who is busy helping the one who's talking get off of his horse. "It's supposed to be a full day's ride, and we did it in a little over half of that."

The other one hums under his breath. He got off his horse mostly on his own a few minutes ago, much to the irritation of his companion. Though he's a year or so younger than the other guard that Chaol chose to accompany him on the journey, who is still going on about the exertion of covering so much distance so quickly, it's clear that his youth hasn't affected his maturity -- he's obviously got better self-control than the older guard as it is. He's already started brushing down his own horse.

Chaol isn't facing the younger of the two guards, but it sounds like he's being careful - he's whispering kindly to the horse, reminding Chaol that he may have pushed not only himself and the two younger guards much harder than he should've, but also their horses.

He'll probably get an earful about that from Dorian.

There's a sigh before the more mature guard (who is now a bit further in line for a promotion than he had been when they'd set off a few days ago) speaks. "Captain Westfall greatly cares for His Highness. You know that. Are you saying that you would be any different in this situation?"

"No, I'm not saying that," the less-mature guard snaps back, "I'm just saying that Captain Westfall didn't actually stop to figure out what was going on. I've never seen him rush into things like this before."

_That's it_. Chaol shakes his head, glaring without focusing his gaze on anything.

Turning around one on foot, Chaol marches to stand in front of the two men, finding them conversing over the body of the horse that the younger guard is brushing down. The older guards, some of them having known him from the earliest days of their training, nod respectfully (though not unkindly). They glance around and meet eyes with one another. A few seconds pass and the older guards practically rush out of the room like they're being chased. Chaol and the two younger guards are left alone with their horses.

He opens his mouth to speak and realizes that he hasn't learned their names. It's foolish, but he usually does better than that - he prides himself on making the new guards feel at home, on making sure that they're looked after, just as much as he prides himself on serving the king. He took the two young men on his trip because they are the most promising trainees in their class, and he wanted to get to know them and see where in the palace or city they might fit the best. At some point, though, he knows, he should've learned their names.

"Captain Westfall." The more-mature one's voice is steady, just trying to get Chaol's attention. He scratches the back of his neck. "We got a letter by messenger. It was urgent, so we opened it, and it said that His Highness has been" - his eyes trail over to the clock behind Chaol's head, and Chaol fights off the urge to smack him and yell, _hurry up, tell me what I want to know_ \- "missing for - well, now, anyway - almost forty hours."

_Shit._ Chaol doesn't know how to respond to that, doesn't know what to do with himself.

It takes a few seconds to sink in. When it finally does, an overwhelming panic sets in, overriding even the well-honed instincts that keep Chaol calm under pressure.

The younger guard smiles sadly. He shakes his head, too, and glances at Chaol's horse. Chaol turns to look at the horse on the other side of the long chamber, too, and realizes that he hasn't yet finished brushing his horse down.

"Go get him, Captain. Not a lot of people know, because they're trying to keep the city from panicking. You have to find him." Even the older, less-mature guard has a certain tilt to his mouth. Chaol doesn't quite know what to make of it. "We'll get things cleaned up here."

This brings a halt to the lightening of the less-mature guard's eyes. He probably has better things to do. Chaol is in such a foul mood (so wrought with worry, so angry with the world, so afraid in a way he hasn't been since he was a child) that he would usually give them one of the hated street or stable duties for a month, but his mind won't focus long enough for him to produce - much less _act_ \- upon a coherent thought.

The other guard sends the less-mature one a scathing look, and then they both nod at Chaol.

Chaol pivots on his left foot and sets off to find his prince.

It seems that they've already turned the palace upside down looking for Dorian (but quietly, trying to keep it from getting out as they are - Chaol knows for a fact that if word of Dorian's disappearance even gets out to a palace employee that isn't one of the King's more trusted... it could be all over Rifthold within a matter of hours) within the time that it took Chaol to return from the city he was visiting for the King. That's a good thing, because it means that they have narrowed down where Dorian could be - not the palace.

It isn't much, but Chaol will take it.

Dorian is _missing_ \- the thought alone hurts, because Dorian could be _dead_ and Chaol wouldn't know, much as he'd like to believe that he would, that he'd feel it inside of him. When they decided that Dorian had been taken - that's the assumption that everyone Chaol has waiting for him in the briefing room and his office is working under, at least, that Dorian has been taken by some force mysterious and unknown (for the time being, at least - Chaol will know them and destroy them in that order rather quickly) - Chaol doesn't know, but it seems that they've moved past the thought that Dorian just ran away.

(Dorian wouldn't have done that. Sure, he hadn't been overjoyed that his father was sending Chaol to that meeting - both Dorian and Chaol knew that it would be dangerous, going so far away, and that didn't even get into the people that the King had wanted Chaol to meet with. Dorian wasn't thrilled about it, but he had known that there wasn't anything that Chaol could've done - he could've said no, maybe, but there wasn't anyone else that had the bargaining power of the Captain of the Royal Guard when it came to the matters at hand, and there were things that needed to be done. It had had to be him - Chaol knew that. Dorian knew it, too, which had mostly kept him from being pissed at Chaol about the whole thing.)

Chaol sets up a command center in the guards' briefing room. He gets a map and outlines functional sectors of the city, and then organizes search parties, who set out as soon as they've been given their assignments. He, with the King's blessing, carefully and secretly sends messengers to Rifthold's worst - if they know anything about the missing Crown Prince, or they somehow contribute to finding him alive and bringing him home, the Havilliards (not to mention Chaol and his men) won't forget it.

Normally, the thought of offering Rifthold's worst and slimiest a deal like that would make Chaol's insides burn. Now, he doesn't even feel it, doesn't even care - all he wants is to find Dorian before it's too late.

Chaol does all of this, working through the night and well into the coming dawn, so much so that he doesn't quite notice when several of his candles burn themselves out, without allowing himself to think of Dorian - Dorian, who must be scared (he's no coward, but hell, Chaol would be scared, too) and might be cold and alone and hurt and bleeding and -

"Captain Westfall?"

Chaol starts at the sound. He practically flies out of his chair. This, of course, means that he knocks into the edge of his desk, and he's fairly certain that the tops of his thighs will have twin bruises from the impact.

The guard that interrupted him - a woman who would appear to be maybe two or three years his senior if it weren't for her graying hair, she's been with the palace guard for two or three decades and still plans to be there for another number of years to boot; her name is Thera, and she's one of Chaol's best people - has the grace to look apologetic without being overly concerned. She doesn't bother with the pretense (she mostly keeps to herself while they work, and even though she is one of his most trusted lieutenants, they really don't interact outside of their jobs) that she cares more than she does.

Still, Chaol opens his mouth to make an excuse for his jumpiness. It isn't befitting of his position to be so caught off guard like that, and he has an appearance to keep up.

Thera looks thoroughly unconvinced.

"There's no need to worry." She steps inside and pushes the door shut behind her. It closes with a soft click, barely audible over the noise of the city. "We're all a little... on edge, right now."

There's something in her voice that tells Chaol what she really means: _I'm old enough to see the way you look at him, and I know how hard this must be for you. There's no need to bother brushing it off like that - you're allowed to be upset._

Chaol doesn't want to think about how obvious he's probably been the last few hours - there's no telling how he's been acting, yelling and ordering his subordinates around in a way that he promised himself he would never act. That's probably more than enough of a hint to someone with as much wisdom in her eyes as Thera.

"I know what it is to be in love, Captain," Thera says. Her words are carefully chosen in a way that would make even Dorian proud. "You're not as good as his Highness is at hiding it, unfortunately."

For the second time in as many minutes, Chaol flinches. _What is she talking about?_ He sputters through an attempt at voicing this question, but nothing quite comes out. "What - Dorian isn't - He doesn't - "

Thera's eyebrows fly up at his lack of debating her accusation. He knows it isn't worth bothering - she's right, _she's right_ , he's always been in love with Dorian, and it's not exactly like he trusts that she'd believe it even if he did argue with her. The fact that she can tell at all... It probably isn't worth going back and forth with her as it is.

"You haven't stopped for half a second since you got back from your need-to-know only trip," Thera begins, her gaze unwavering as it meets Chaol's, "and you look more frantic than I've ever seen you."

Normally, this wouldn't be odd, or even an issue. However, the clock says it's well after six in the morning, and he's pretty sure that he hasn't had anything to eat since dinner the night before. To Thera's credit, she isn't making a complete ordeal out of it, even if Chaol feels like every drop of blood in his body is revolting against him.

There is a new kind of panic rising up inside him, not squashing the _he's missing, he's missing, he's missing, I have to find him, I have to find him, I have to find him_ that's making his ears roar or his breathing shallow, just adding to it until it's making it worse. Thera doesn't seem to mind what she knows, but what if she does? What if she tells someone, and they find out, and _Dorian finds out_ and - ?

Thera gives him a small, sad smile. Something in her eyes makes Chaol wonder if she's ever felt something like this, if she's ever been in this particularly awful position. (Whether that means that her best friend or the love of her life has been taken and gone for almost three days, or she's been in love with a best friend who is both _a)_ actual royalty and _b)_ worth so much more than he could ever be, is unclear.)

"There's nothing wrong with being in love, Captain." As she speaks, she takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all, and I..." Her gaze falls from his, to the paintings on the walls of his office (picked out by Dorian, of course) and then to some of the trinkets on his desk (a combination of items gifted to him by Dorian after diplomatic missions and things that he picked up for himself as he traveled with the Havilliards). When she finally meets his eyes again, she seems to have made up her mind about something. "I think it's only fair for me to tell you that, while you were gone, his Highness was nothing short of ill with worry. He was quite unhappy that you were gone."

Chaol closes his eyes, takes a shallow breath. That isn't proof that Dorian feels the same way, like Thera probably imagines that it is. They're best friends, practically brothers - that's what Dorian says.

Thinking about that hurts - he has a hundred memories of Dorian clapping a hand on his shoulder, saying, "The Captain of the Royal Guard he may be, but he is also my brother, so I recommend that you avoid upsetting his delicate sensitivities. A prince like myself could make a breakfast out of a snake like you." (Fine, so that was only one time, and one of few times that Chaol witnessed Dorian's protectiveness surface, but it never fails to warm his insides. Dorian isn't evil by any means, but he certainly possesses the skills necessary to be conniving when he wants to be, and somehow that only makes Chaol love him a little bit more.) It still makes his chest ache.

Dorian calls him his brother, and Chaol's been in love with him since they were fourteen.

"We're only friends," Chaol tells Thera, no bite or certainty in his voice. He's not lying, though. They _are_ only friends. No matter how much it hurts him. "Nothing more."

Thera shakes her head in a way that is firm but not unkind. "I know what I'm talking about, Captain."

Chaol doesn't know what to say to that. The woman on the other side of his desk certainly seems confident in what she's saying, but there's no way that Dorian could ever feel the same way that Chaol does.

Dorian has slept with half the girls in the castle. A number of girls within the city proper, and then who knows how many girls from visiting lands, regions, or peoples. Not that there's anything wrong with that - if that's what makes Dorian happy, that's what makes Dorian happy. And it's Chaol's duty to let him have that. That's how he's sure that if Dorian really felt the same way, he wouldn't have -

"I know what you're thinking, Captain," Thera interrupts. Her hands are folded in her lap in a manner that Chaol has seen Queen Georgina take on from time to time, and Thera exudes such a regal air that Chaol blinks hard to make sure he's not imagining things. "But I've seen what maybe you haven't: there are only ever women when you aren't around, and it isn't like he's ever been in love with one of them."

Her tone dares Chaol to tell her that she's wrong, that no, Dorian has a heart the size of Erilea itself and finds room in it for anyone he sees fit. And that part is true, yes. But Dorian has never (at least to Chaol's knowledge, but they don't keep secrets from each other - not that kind, anyway) been in love with any of the women that he's been with.

Chaol has always imagined that Dorian was just waiting for the right woman to let into his heart. He's never allowed himself to consider what life with Dorian could be like if Dorian had already chosen him instead.

"You aren't..." Chaol wants with everything inside him to tell her that she's wrong about the whole thing, to deny everything that she's said and demand to know what she interrupted him for in the first place, but he knows that no amount of vehemence will allow him to worm his way out of this one. Dorian, maybe, could - _of course he could, he's Dorian Havilliard_ \- but Dorian is charming and eloquent and moves through situations and conversations fluidly. Chaol is not the man that he is in love with, though, so he gives up trying to find a way out of it and rests his palms flat on his desk. "You aren't wrong about me," he finally admits. "But Dorian is..."

Thera just nods. "I know the feeling, Captain." She looks around the room for a few seconds, then opens her mouth to speak. Another second of silence goes by and she slams her lips together as if she's changed her mind.

In the end, she settles for saying, "I came to tell you that my search party came back without any new information for you," and that's the end of that conversation.

The dread in Chaol's stomach only manages to increase at that. Thera's group went to the most dangerous part of Rifthold, so it should be good that they came back without any reason to believe that Dorian is there. It means that it's likely not some of the city's criminals, out to extort the guards or the royal family. But she's the third team leader to tell him that their team came back without anything of use, and Chaol is starting to feel more than a little hopeless.

"I would recommend that you get some sleep, Captain." Thera sounds professionally concerned, and Chaol wonders if he should buy the woman a drink for handling all of this so well. For seeing something that maybe he didn't.

_What happened to vehement denial?_ he snaps at himself. _You can't let yourself get your hopes up when you know very well what the truth is - Dorian doesn't see you that way. He won't ever._

Thera gets to her feet, leans forward, and rests one of her hands over one of his. "You won't do the prince any good if you kill over from sleep-deprivation."

Chaol opens his mouth to argue, but Thera cuts him off again.

"There are new search parties going out in an hour. Yes, they haven't slept either, but you have spent at least two thirds of the last two and a half days on a horse, so you need to rest. The royal guards need someone effective and capable to lead, and you need to find the prince." She pauses and takes a breath, looks the Havilliard crest covering his heart. (The uniforms, he's always thought, are quite fitting.) "There's nothing good that comes out of you hurting yourself because you feel that you failed him."

He has nothing to say in response to this. So he nods his head, and grabs his satchel and a few other items of his as Thera extinguishes the few remaining candles in the room. They exit his office together. Chaol locks the door and they head for the stairs. When they part ways at the entrance to the barracks belonging to the palace guards, Thera hides a small, knowing smile with the back of her hand and a cough.

Chaol keeps walking. His feet know where he's going.

He gets to Dorian's chambers without really thinking about it at all, and slips out of whatever daze he'd fallen into as he walked as soon as he rests his hand on the doorknob.

It does feel a little strange to enter the room without Dorian at his side, but he misses him _so much_ , and Chaol just doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't know how to deal with this feeling of love without burying it, but that's a problem for after they've found Dorian. So maybe he'll sit on Dorian's couch for a little while, and if he dozes off there because the whole place smells like Dorian, then... Who's to blame him? Besides, it isn't like anyone will ever know.

He can't stay awake for much longer - he has to accept that even his body has its limits, and he won't be doing much to help Dorian at all if he pushes himself too hard - and he'll just curl up on Dorian's couch, sleep for just a few hours, and then he'll get right back to work.

He's no more than sat down on the uncomfortable couch in Dorian's parlor when he's flying to his feet once again. He's heard something, and though he's not quite sure what it is, there's a tingling on the back of his neck and hands that tells him everything he needs to know: he's not alone in Dorian's chambers. A wild speck of hope twists itself up in his chest, but he knows it's no use - Dorian isn't there. Dorian is gone, and he has to find him, and whoever is in Dorian's bedroom will have some serious questions to answer about Dorian's disappearance.

They're certainly going to find themselves in a rather uncomfortable position, and with a unique disdain for the palace guard, very shortly.

Nodding to himself in a way that he would normally never allow himself - he's usually better at hiding his feelings than this - he silently draws his sword. Luckily for him, the metal doesn't even shriek against it's sheath as he extends it in front of him.

The sound repeats itself, and Chaol finally places it. It's the sound of someone coughing, a rattling sound. At the same time, it's a shivering-so-hard that teeth are chattering, coming from Dorian's bedroom.

_What the hell?_ It would be one thing if it was a potential culprit behind Dorian's disappearance, but whoever that is... Their teeth are chattering so hard that Chaol can hear it from the living room of Dorian's quarters. They don't really sound like they're up to making anyone disappear. _Who could it be then?_

A memory flashes in his mind then, and it takes several seconds longer than should be necessary for him to process it. When he does, though, his stomach practically drops into his toes.

_Dorian, still fifteen and maturing as best a prince can at that age, had started to cough loudly enough to draw the attention of the guards outside, who Chaol ended up promising that everything would be fine, they really had no need to worry, but if they could go and wake up one of the healers, he would be eternally grateful._

_"I'm fine," Dorian had tried to tell him, not at all convincing - he'd been paler than Chaol had ever seen him, and he'd been shivering with fever - but still full of effort. That effort, in turn, had seemed to exhaust him, and Dorian had gone limp against the pillows, all the tension draining out of his body with another bout of painful-sounding coughing._

_Chaol had been terrified with worry, and he'd rushed forward, hands out but not sure what to do with them._

Dorian had come down sick right after Chaol's birthday - an ill-fated hunting expedition which had seen the weather take a turn for the worst - and Chaol had spent long enough listening for that horrifying, hacking cough that he would recognize it anywhere.

His sword falls out of his hand in an unseemly manner, but he can't seem to tighten his fingers around the handle before it's clattering to the ground. He jumps at the sound a second too late, and then rushes forward into Dorian's room without a second thought.

It really would be a perfect opportunity for someone to get the upper-hand on him, wouldn't it? Chaol knows this in the back of his head, but still, he charges forward, exhaustion and fear speeding up his heart beat, his half-asleep state as abandoned as the blade on the floor.

-/-

Dorian is laying on his bed, practically rolling back and forth with each shiver and shudder. Chaol stops dead in his tracks, frozen in place in the doorway, as he takes in the scene. His eyes are wide with horror that he can't seem to shove away in favor of a more objective state of mind.

"Dorian," he whispers. His mouth moves, but the word is not much more than a breath. Dorian doesn't even move in response, which causes a wave of nausea to roll over Chaol, even though Chaol could barely hear himself say Dorian's name - _maybe Dorian just didn't hear you_ , the still-operational part of his brain offers in explanation.

On the bed, still laying flat, Dorian's chest heaves as he gasps for air. Something is truly wrong with him - he's pale, and shaking so hard that he's practically vibrating, but he's alive. It's definitely him - Chaol would know that messy hair anywhere, even in the slowly growing light of the early morning, and a few steps forward allow him a better view of Dorian's form. His eyes are half-lidded but somewhat open, even though they appear unseeing. _He's delirious_ , that semi-objective voice in the back of his head tells him. _You need to find a healer._

Chaol tries to tell his feet to move again, to go back towards the living area and then into the hallway, where there will be guards who can go find a healer for him, but his body doesn't seem to be listening to him anymore. He can't seem to tear his eyes away from Dorian's shaking body. Every few seconds, Dorian makes a tiny noise of discomfort, and when he coughs again a minute later, it's almost like his chest is being jerked up from his center of mass - the rest of him isn't moving beyond the jolt that goes with coughing so hard.

It has to hurt like hell.

That manages to get Chaol's body listening to him again. He's whipping around and racing through the living room and into the corridor so hard that he narrowly avoids running into furniture and walls alike.

"Captain," one of the guards on watch says slowly when Chaol hurls himself out of Dorian's chambers. "Is everything..." The guard trails off, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head, and then asks instead, "Are you alright?"

Chaol forces himself to pull it together just enough to give the guard an instruction. "Send someone to get a healer. Quickly. It is of the utmost importance, but no one can know what you're doing."

The guard nods in understanding. He looks much less confused, thanks to Chaol's employment of a more standard tone and set of instructions. (Maybe he's still plenty confused, but at least he isn't looking at Chaol like he's deranged anymore.) "Of course, Captain."

"Hurry."

The guard nods again and then tears off down the hallway. Chaol hopes he's fast enough.

-/-

Dorian doesn't hear the door open, but he does hear Chaol cursing loudly enough to raise the dead, and that's what has him trying to sit up. He wants to embrace his best friend - after having not seen him for days (well, at any rate, it's felt like days, but Dorian doesn't have the slightest clue how much time has passed since Chaol left), he's missed him so much, missed his warmth and his laugh and plenty of other things that best-friends-almost-well-practically-brothers shouldn't miss quite so much.

Not that that's important. Dorian fully intends to blame all of that on the fever he must be running, and then never mention it to Chaol. Ever. He can pretend it was just the fever once things are back to normal. In the meantime, however, he would really like to put his arms around Chaol, if only so that there's something to hold him up, because he feels like he's drifting, like he's just floating around without anything to hold him together.

Another tremor runs through him, effectively halting his attempt to get up. His muscles tense up and his body won't listen to him. He can't move. His entire body shakes with how much it hurts. The pain's come in waves so far, but this must be the worst yet. It blinds him for long enough that he suddenly can't remember where he is, and then he hears it -

"Dorian! Oh my - Dorian, what the _hell_? What - Dorian!"

It's Chaol's voice - Chaol came back for him, he found him, he -

There's a clatter a few feet from the bed, like maybe Chaol slipped or something (Dorian's barely hanging on, but still, this hurts to think about), and then the weight on the bed shifts just enough to make Dorian's stomach churn. "What happened to you, Dorian?" His voice is so much softer now that he's so close, and Dorian turns his head - though it's really more like he tries to and his head lolls to the side - and forces his eyes open just enough to see the familiar colors of Chaol's uniform.

It _is_ Chaol. Dorian makes an attempt to sit up again, trying to throw his body weight forward so that he's upright. He doesn't have the strength to do it any other way.

But that costs him. He's not even sure if he's moved a centimeter before another wave of pain doubles down on him. He gasps with the force of it, and that's followed by a wretched sob that forces it's way out of his throat. It almost feels like something is burning him from the inside out. Or like lightning is being shoved through his veins.

A moan escapes him. He might be imagining the fingers that card through his hair, but he doesn't think so. _Chaol_.

He's not sure how much time it takes this time. He might be rolling back and forth on his already-messy bed, he might not be. He really can't tell. Even the soft sheets, damp with sweat and maybe even tears - he thinks he might be crying, because harsh sobs keep rattling around in his chest, but he's really not sure - feel rough against his skin. It hurts.

Through it all, though, there's Chaol in the background, chanting his name like it's going to somehow help. His fingers are running up and down Dorian's arms, over his shoulders, through his hair. He's going on about something else, too, but Dorian's too exhausted and in far too much pain to try and figure out what.

The pain slowly subsides, and Dorian realizes that, while Chaol keeps repeating his name, nothing else he's saying makes much sense. He's stumbling through saying something, and he's still talking while Dorian's trying to figure out what he's trying to convey.

The darkness of unconsciousness offers itself to him like an escape. It's not like he wants to - he very well knows what could happen if he passes out now - but his body seems to relax into it.

" _Dorian_!"

Suddenly, Chaol's voice is much louder. He's shouting Dorian's name.

This sends a jolt through Dorian - _stay awake, stay awake, stay awake_. He finds just enough energy to open his eyes again.

As soon as he meets Chaol's gaze, Chaol nods and murmurs, "I need you to hang on just a little bit longer. I'm going to get some things, and I want you to keep your eyes open, alright?" Chaol's voice is shaking in a way that Dorian has never heard before, but it somehow reminds him of when they were children, when Chaol came back from Anielle and announced that he had no wish but to serve Dorian's family however he could.

Dorian finds the strength to grab the edge of Chaol's shirt, but only because he's leaned over the bed enough that Dorian doesn't have to lift his hand much. His fingers twist into the fabric. A fear overtakes him, then, and he chokes out, "Don't - don't leave - "

Chaol only shakes his head and slowly lifts Dorian's fingers from his shirt. "I'm not. I'm not leaving this room." Under his breath, after he shakes his head again, he whispers, "I'm not leaving you ever again."

He's gone before Dorian can ask if that's really what he said, so Dorian's pretty sure he's imagined it. (While it is the exact sort of thing he's hoped Chaol would say to him his whole life, it's pretty damn clear that his luck really just isn't that good these days. There's no use in letting himself hope like that, because it'll only hurt more when it becomes undeniably clear that Chaol doesn't feel the same way about him that he does about Chaol.)

Dorian's head is clearer, he realizes, even if he might be imagining Chaol sort-of-almost confessing feelings for him (which is way too good to be true) like that. Knowing that Chaol is there, with him, trying to help him, does wonders for the panic that's been balled up in his middle since he realized he was too weak to move. With Dorian's mind forming complete thoughts again, it dawns on him how much he's probably scared Chaol. A pang of guilt tugs at his heart.

Dorian forces his eyes to stay open, like Chaol asked, because he doesn't want to worry him anymore than he already has. He's not sure where he's found the strength - maybe it's just Chaol's presence, because it makes him feel so much better, so much safer; it does promise that he'll get better, after all, because Chaol would never let anything happen to him, whether he feels the same way that Dorian does or not. He follows Chaol around the room with his eyes, too, because it really does make him feel better to know that Chaol is still with him.

Chaol is moving so quickly that Dorian struggles to keep up with his movements. Even trying makes Dorian dizzier than he'd been before. He bites back a groan in a half-assed attempt not to bother Chaol any more than he already has. Dorian lets his eyes move up to the ceiling - the ceiling stopped moving around on him maybe a few hours ago ( _that_ was definitely a hallucination), but he hopes it won't start again - in an effort to keep himself from becoming nauseous.

Suddenly, he decides that Chaol can't go on being so freaked out. He really is racing around in a way that can't be healthy. Dorian hates seeing him like this.

Dorian isn't too sure what Chaol is doing, either. He's running around like he's come a bit unhinged, but other than that, he can't quite figure out what Chaol's trying to accomplish. Maybe it would be better if Chaol had some help.

His fingers clench the sheets around him as a new wave of strength seems to slam into him. _Maybe my fever's finally breaking?_ It's not a lot, but it's certainly enough that he can try to help Chaol. He really doesn't want to be a bother. He doesn't want Chaol to start seeing him as a burden. Or to keep freaking out about him. He's fine, really, so there's no reason for Chaol to be so panicked.

_I've got to tell him that I'm fine_ , Dorian thinks to himself. _The fever will go away, and I'll be alright. But_ he _certainly won't be if he works himself into a panic._

Without giving it a second thought, he shoves himself upright and onto his elbows. His biceps are trembling so badly that it hurts, just from holding his own weight, but he keeps going. He needs to get up, to tell Chaol that he's alright. He shoves the blankets off of him in a single motion. It requires much more effort than it should, even with the newfound strength. Still, he keeps moving. If he stops, he won't be able to tell Chaol that he's alright.

Dorian braces himself before readjusting and turning his body towards the side of the bed. His movements aren't as coordinated as he would like for them to be, but it's fine, considering that he can move at all. Maybe it's a sudden spike of energy, maybe it's Chaol's presence, but he knows for a fact that he wasn't even able to pull the blankets up around him earlier.

Maybe this means that he really will be alright.

He's still shivering, teeth chattering like he's been caught in a snowstorm for days on end, and Chaol's saying something - very, very loudly - that Dorian hears but can't make out over the ringing in his ears. It hurts, but he keeps going, even as his body begins to shake harder from the exertion.

His legs don't seem to be working properly - they won't support his weight. He makes it half a step before the world is all but falling out from underneath him. The floor is getting way too close to his face, but he can't seem to stop it. He makes to shove his hands out to stop himself from landing too hard, but they don't seem to listen. The ringing in his ears drowns out all coherent thought, and his body aches as he falls.

Another second passes, and then warm, strong arms are catching Dorian before he hits the floor.

Chaol's breathing is a little harsher than usual - though it can't possibly be as labored as Dorian's - but it's hot against Dorian's temple. Dorian relaxes into Chaol's embrace, letting the other man hold him up. His head lolls against Chaol's shoulder, and Chaol's arms are tight around his trembling body. Dorian still feels like death itself, but Chaol is there, and that makes it a little bit better.

"Dorian," Chaol finally whispers, lips at Dorian's ear, voice thick with worry or maybe something else, "I'm going to help you sit back down, and then we're going to go wait on the couch for a healer, alright?"

That plan doesn't make much sense to Dorian, but he goes along with it. It's Chaol, and Chaol would never let anything happen to him. Dorian doesn't need to worry about that right now.

What Dorian _does_ need to worry about right now, though, is how cold he is. His teeth are chattering. His entire body is practically vibrating from how hard he's shivering.

"Ch - Chaol," Dorian gets out around a particularly hard shudder. He feels himself being moved, though he's not entirely sure how or why all of the sudden. His mind is suddenly foggy again, and nothing makes sense in that weird way that can only be caused by a bad combination of fever and exhaustion. His exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he has to tell Chaol.

Maybe Chaol just doesn't know? _I have to tell him_ , he repeats to himself, _so that he can find a way to get me warm._

"Chaol, 'm _cold_." His voice breaks around the words, but he's too out of it to care.

Chaol's voice is still soft when he responds a few seconds later. "I know, I know."

Then there are blankets wrapped tightly around Dorian's shoulders, and moved around until his entire body's been cocooned in what little warmth they provide. Another second goes by, and Chaol is suddenly lifting him off the bed and into his arms. Dorian's body rests limply against Chaol's chest. One of Chaol's arms is tight around Dorian's back and the other is supporting Dorian's knees. That's good, too, because Dorian's entire body goes limp with the exception of the shivering. A tiny sigh escapes his mouth. Chaol is so _warm_.

While Dorian is getting himself settled in Chaol's arms, not using what precious energy he has left in him to think about what Chaol is doing beyond _he's warm_ and _he's holding me_ , Chaol starts walking. He's also muttering under his breath, and Dorian tips his head back against Chaol's shoulder just enough to listen.

"Good grief, you're _burning up_ , Dorian." Chaol's voice is barely audible - he clearly doesn't mean for Dorian to hear it; even though Dorian does, he can't quite figure out what it means, but he's sure it's not good.

"I was gone for, literally, like, _two_ weeks, and you turn up _missing_?" Chaol continues. He blows out a long breath. His mouth is practically against Dorian's temple, and Dorian can feel every word that Chaol's saying as he speaks. "And I come back and you're half - " Chaol lets out a strangled sound, his voice breaking. Dorian might just be imagining things, but he's pretty sure that a tear lands on the side of his face.

A few seconds go by, and Chaol inhales sharply in a way that tells Dorian that, _yes, he is really crying_. Why, he doesn't know, but maybe he can figure it out once he's feeling better. "You're half- _dead_?"

Dorian turns his head to bury his face into Chaol's neck. A few beats go by - he actually feels them, like the ticking of some huge, universal clock, and then he realizes that it's really Chaol's pulse; he can only feel it because his cheek is resting against Chaol's shoulder, and Chaol's heart must really be hammering away in his chest (Dorian doesn't want to know how fast his own heart must be going - the feeling of Chaol holding him this way, combined with whatever the hell is wrong with him... it can't be healthy) - and then Chaol is lowering himself down. His arms tighten around Dorian's body as he sits down.

_The couch,_ Dorian realizes. _He said we were going to go sit on the couch to wait for the healer._

"'m s-sor-sorry, Chaol," Dorian chokes out as soon as Chaol's settled the two of them into the couch. He vaguely remembers trying to get up, trying to tell Chaol that he would be okay, and then collapsing. _I've worried him_ , he remembers. That thought is replaced with a less certain, _He's crying because he's worried about me_ , and Dorian keeps trying to apologize for it. " - didn't mean to - "

Chaol makes a noise in the back of his throat that Dorian just doesn't know how to describe. For all the years he's known him, for all the skill he has with people, he has no idea what it means. But he doesn't have long to think about it, because then Chaol is shifting Dorian around - something that normally would make Dorian blush like a twelve-year-old to even think about, but he's so ill that he can't do anything but relax into the warmth of his best friend - so that Dorian's side is pressed against the warmth of Chaol's torso.

In a second swift motion, Chaol pulls Dorian's legs across his lap. Dorian lets Chaol hold him close, relaxes into him - Chaol is warm, and real, and there beside him, and Dorian has never been so happy in his life to know that. In the back of his head, there's a brief second of panic, because _what if Chaol isn't okay with that?_ A tremor racks through his body at the thought of Chaol pushing him away. What if Chaol thinks that he's -

A whimper forces its way out of Dorian's mouth. _What if Chaol figures out how I feel about him?_

"Shh, Dorian, relax, I'm right here," Chaol murmurs. Clearly, he's misinterpreted the cause of Dorian's panic, but it's reassuring all the same. "Are you in pain?"

Dorian nods as much as he can. He isn't strong enough to hold himself up, and he's dangerously close to resting his head on Chaol's shoulder. Everything hurts. The pain from earlier has subsided, but his body is now aching and sore from it. "A - a little, yes," he chokes out. His voice comes out more hollow and more like a sob than he wants, but he can't really help it.

Chaol doesn't waste a second. "Well, here, you can lean back this way if you want." His hands, resting on Dorian's shoulders all of the sudden, start to ease Dorian back.

Dorian's immediately colder without the warmth of his best friend close to him. He shoves his eyes open and lets Chaol help him lay back on the couch they're sitting on, trying to relax as best he can. There's enough room on the couch that Dorian can lay all the way back and his knees are still comfortably thrown over Chaol's lap.

"No, Ch - _Chaol_." Dorian tries to argue, even as his teeth clink together - he's shivering so hard his teeth are chattering again.

Chaol freezes at that. There's a pause, and then he asks, "What, um - what can I do to help, Dorian?"

He sounds more lost and confused than Dorian's ever heard. Dorian doesn't know what to say in response, so he settles for trying to sit up again. It isn't easy. His body's pretty much given up on him, it seems, but Chaol figures out what he wants and carefully pulls him back upright.

"Is this better?" Chaol still sounds so unsure of himself. "Is this what you - um - is this alright?"

Dorian nods. His head finally droops forward, his forehead unceremoniously landing on Chaol's shoulder. Chaol just hums in response. "Can I put my arms around you?"

Relief washes over Dorian, who just bobs his head up and down. His nose brushes over Chaol's skin.

One of Chaol's arms snakes under the blankets and then all the way around Dorian's waist, holding Dorian as tightly to him as possible, and his free hand tangles itself in Dorian's hair. Chaol actually leans his head to the side so that Dorian can further bury his face into his neck. "You're going to be okay."

Dorian just nods into Chaol's neck. He doesn't bother saying anything. He doesn't need to - he and Chaol have always understood each other perfectly well without words.

-/-

There's a knock on the door a few minutes later, and Chaol calls for whoever is outside to come in. The door opens, and then there are soft footsteps as the healer - a petite woman with dark brown hair and freckles smattered across her face, who walks with her head held high and fingers folded together in front of her waist - crosses the room.

Chaol quickly slips his fingers from where they've been tangled in Dorian's hair. He slides his arm underneath the blankets he's wrapped around Dorian, pulling them up to the nape of Dorian's neck. Dorian lets out a slow breath as Chaol begins to run his hand up and down Dorian's back.

The healer's appearance is rather bright for so early in the morning. Still, Chaol doesn't think he woke her up, given the certainty with which she walks. She looks far too awake to have just been dragged out of bed and ordered to the prince's chambers. Thera steps inside the room behind her, still looking better than Chaol must, even as exhausted as she probably is, carrying the healer's bag.

The healer's voice matches her appearance - too bright for so early an hour. "Captain Westfall, you sent for -" she breaks off with a loud gasp. Her fingers break apart and one of her hands flies to her chest, pressing against her heart in shock. "Oh my word, Captain, what _happened_?"

Thera nudges the door closed with her foot. It quietly clicks closed. The sudden absence of the quiet noise from the hallway disappears, and it's a little jarring, but Chaol recovers quickly.

He can't resist the urge to press Dorian to his body a little closer. It's silly - he trusts the healers, especially this one (she seems trustworthy; maybe it's the lack of sleep or maybe it's his gut, but he trusts her), and Dorian needs help that only a healer can give him anyway - to be so protective of Dorian like this, especially given who he is and how capable he is, but he can't help it. His prince is still shivering in his arms, teeth chattering like he's been drenched in freezing cold water and then caught in a blizzard or something, and Chaol can only hold him tighter.

It's because he loves him. There's really no use denying it any more, is there? If Thera could see it... Who knows who else can?

_But_ , a small, uncertain voice whispers in the back of his mind, _you know what else she said. What if she's right? What if Dorian really does feel the same way?_

Chaol doesn't bother chiding himself. Telling himself not to think like that is useless when that's the hope that's been buried deep inside him for the last five and a half years of his life.

Dorian sighs into Chaol's skin, content, what little tension that had been left in his muscles draining out as he relaxes. His breath isn't nearly as hot as his forehead, which, still pressed against his neck, seems to be getting warmer.

_His fever's going up._

"I believe that His Highness is ill," Chaol says to the healer. "I was hoping that you might be able to see what's brought this on?"

The healer nods. She's a bit paler than just a minute or two before, when she'd come inside, but she's clearly got a good head on her shoulders. "I heard that he was missing, Captain."

Chaol opens his mouth to dodge the question, realizing that he has no idea how, but knowing that it needs to be done. He still needs to meet with the king and his advisors to discuss how to talk about this to the public.

It's Thera that saves him.

"He's clearly no longer missing, Ilysa, so we need to make sure that he recovers quickly so that we can figure out exactly what's happened here."

She sounds so sure of herself - Chaol envies her that. He's not sure of much of anything at this point, only that Dorian's fever _must_ come down.

To be fair, though, it isn't like Dorian really was missing. How no one thought to check his bedroom is truly beyond Chaol, but there's always the possibility that they did and Dorian was somewhere else when that happened. 

Ilysa - Chaol can't figure out where she must be from with a name like that; that's Dorian's thing, not his - takes a few steps forward. She's starting to look more certain about what to do next.

When Thera continues speaking, there's a twinkle in her eyes, and she's looking at Chaol rather than Ilysa. "Let's get to it, shall we? The captain and His Highness need their rest."

Chaol is too tired to roll his eyes at her. He'll do that once Dorian is fixed up.

"Yes, we should get to it," Ilysa says. She moves to Dorian and Chaol's side, and Thera sets her bag on the table in front of them before crossing the room to lean up against the door that she came through with Ilysa. "Can you tell me his symptoms?"

Ilysa bends over to dig through her bag for something. She lays out a cloth beside the bag, makes herself busy laying out tools on it.

Chaol rubs circles into Dorian's side with his fingers, his hand still beneath the blankets where Ilysa won't be able to see. He trusts her, but he still doesn't want to risk word getting around that he's got a thing for the Crown Prince - that would be trouble. (Chaol doesn't bother considering that his lack of sleep might be making him paranoid. The likelihood is great enough that he doesn't see the point in evaluating it.) Dorian's still shivering. His teeth only chatter when a particularly hard tremor runs through him. Otherwise, his body is limp in Chaol's arms, even though he's smiling into Chaol's neck. _What's he smiling about?_

"He's got a high fever. He's absolutely freezing," Chaol lists. _Maybe that's why he's smiling - could the fever be making him delirious?_ Chaol stifles a shudder and buries the thought. He thinks back to pulling Dorian from those soaked sheets, and adds, "I think he was in a cold sweat earlier."

Ilysa doesn't stop to look up at him. She doesn't even pause as she considers this. A second later, her tone is something that Chaol can only describe as surgical - she doesn't seem to have an opinion on the way that Chaol is holding Dorian, doesn't seem to care about anything other than doing her job, and Chaol has worlds of admiration (and gratitude, because it would be quite something to explain if anyone said anything) for that - as she asks, "And has your body heat helped with that any?"

Chaol's eyes dart to Thera, who's covered the lower half of her face with the hand that isn't casually resting on the hilt of her sword. There's laughter in her tired eyes.

"I'm not, uh, well -" Chaol can feel the blood rushing to his face. He doesn't allow his gaze to drift to the mirror on the wall to his right. He knows that his blush is probably turning his cheeks and the back of his neck as red as his uniform. He narrows his eyes and shakes his head, and then tries to formulate an answer once again. "Well, um..."

A chilled breath hits Chaol's neck, and Dorian shifts against him, probably trying to make absolutely sure he's comfortable. It's something Dorian does when he's tired. He's done it literally his whole damn life, and Chaol finds the corners of his mouth tilting up at the familiarity.

After he resettles against Chaol's body, Dorian sighs into Chaol's neck. "You're _warm_ , Chaol," he breathes, nodding just a little. "It's nice."

It sends something through Chaol that is both tingly and warm and soft at the same time. He doesn't bother trying to tamp it down - instead, he just tightens his arm around Dorian's middle.

Chaol realizes that his own being warm doesn't necessarily help Dorian all that much a few seconds later. He leans his head down so that his mouth is next to Dorian's ear. He has to be careful to keep from pressing his lips to Dorian's temple. "Are _you_ feeling any warmer, Dorian?" Chaol asks him, voice low.

Dorian nods. His nose is cold as he nuzzles into Chaol.

Chaol breathes out slowly before he looks up to meet Ilysa's eyes. There's something warm and home-y building up inside him, and the exhaustion tugging at him is replaced by that feeling of safety. He tries to shove it down some, because he doesn't quite trust himself to speak with it tightening up his chest this way.

The healer is still working on organizing her tools, and it takes her a moment to realize that Chaol has an answer to her question. Chaol suspects that she's only trying to keep her hands busy so that she doesn't stare at him and Dorian. When she does look up, her polite smile is still in place. _She'd do magnificently in court, that's for sure._

For some reason, though, Chaol doesn't think she's faking the smile - she genuinely seems to care, and she seems too kind to fake that kind of interest in someone's well-being.

"He says that he's feeling warmer," Chaol tells Ilysa.

"That's good," Ilysa responds, narrowing her eyes at Dorian's shivering frame, buried under several blankets as he is. The look on her face is purely curious, scientific. "Captain, perhaps you would feel of his forehead?"

Chaol does. He has to free his arm from the cocoon of blankets, and then twist his arm up so that he doesn't jostle Dorian, who appears to be drifting to sleep. To his relief, Dorian doesn't feel any warmer than he had before. His temperature is still uncomfortably high, but it hasn't gone up.

_Thank goodness,_ he thinks to himself. _If it had gone up any higher..._ Chaol can't let himself think about what could've happened, but he knows that Dorian likely would've gotten so much worse, would've been close to death, if his fever had gotten any worse.

Blowing out a long breath, Chaol nods and gives Ilysa a small smile. "The fever doesn't seem to have gotten any worse."

Ilysa claps her hands together, standing up straight and letting her shoulders relax. "That's good." She lets out a relieved sigh as well, and then walks around the low table to position herself in front of the couch. "As long as his fever has levelled out, I would imagine that it will start coming down soon."

Something light and airy explodes in Chaol's middle - Dorian's going to be okay.

"Also, Captain," Ilysa continues, "I do want to remind you that he needs to stay hydrated. If he has started sweating out the fever, that's a good sign, but he also needs to replace those fluids." Her hands move around as she speaks, but not in a frantic way. She gestures calmly and carefully, as if it helps her to keep track of herself as she explains what needs to happen next. She's clearly very comfortable with her job - her face doesn't redden in the slightest as she speaks. "As soon as His Highness is up for it, I would recommend that he bathes, and the bedsheets should be changed while he does that."

Normally Dorian would be pissed that they're talking over his head like this, but he seems too out of it to care. He might actually be asleep, though, given the way that his breathing has evened out. Even the shivering seems to have subsided a little bit.

(Chaol hates this. Dorian is the brilliant one, the one who knows how to get things done and get what he wants. He doesn't deserve to feel like this. There's no way to imagine what it must have felt like - how long did he wait for Chaol to find him? How long did he suffer before Chaol did? What happened that he was declared missing, and then somehow was just in his room in his chambers? Where was he before then, and how did he get back there?)

"I'll make sure that he does. I'm thinking we're going to sit here for a little while, and once he's feeling up to it, we'll..." Chaol nods his head in a way that he hopes means 'get to it'. Ilysa seems to understand, because she purses her lips and raises her brows, a silent order for him to keep going. She has an impressively regal air, so much so that it reminds Chaol of Queen Georgina herself. "I'll stay with him as long as he needs," he declares, just so that Ilysa will feel more comfortable leaving without dragging Dorian to the infirmary.

Maybe also so that, if he is awake, Dorian will hear him say it. Maybe.

Ilysa breaks into an even wider smile then. It lights up her entire face. "I have no doubt about that, Captain." She shakes her head just a little bit, and then leans down to begin packing up her tools. She didn't use any of them, Chaol knows - she really had been trying to keep herself busy by laying them all out like that.

This time, Thera laughs out loud. When Chaol shoots her a look that could probably kill anyone else, she doubles over, the hand that had been resting on her sword's hilt pressed to her chest.

"What do you mean?"

It takes a moment for Chaol to realize that the question came out of his mouth, but once he does, he immediately feels like an idiot. A glance over at Thera, who's standing up straight once again, confirms that, yes, it was a truly stupid thing to say.

Ilysa's eyes twinkle as she collects the last few items left on the table. "You seem very..." Her expression is pensive as she organizes everything in the medical bag. It's clear that she doesn't know what word to use, and Chaol braces for her to lay it all on the table the way that Thera had in his office. But she seems to have more couth than that, because after she's finished packing up her bag, she finally turns her gaze back to Chaol and starts over. "You seem very devoted to His Highness's well-being, is all. You are a good friend."

His insides both burn and seem to sag with relief - it hurts, knowing that all he will ever be is a good friend, but it is also good that Ilysa didn't put into words how Chaol feels for Dorian.

Suddenly, Dorian himself is turning his head to respond to Ilysa. Chaol had been sure he was asleep, but apparently not, because Dorian's smiling into Chaol's neck again. "She's right," he whispers, his words slurring, showing how exhausted he must be. "You are a good friend." His fingers twist into Chaol's shirt, much stronger than Chaol had thought possible with the kind of fever that Dorian has.

Chaol's face warms, and he tightens his arm around Dorian's back. He keeps his voice low, meant to be just between him and Dorian. "Thank you." He moves his hand in circles across Dorian's back, hoping that it will help him somehow, because he sounds exhausted. "You should go to sleep."

"Stay with me," is Dorian's only response. His voice breaks on the words, and all Chaol can do is hold him tighter.

Dorian does drift off eventually - it takes a few minutes, so many that Thera and Ilysa silently slip out of the room somewhere in the middle of them, but Chaol doesn't once stop the steady rhythm of rubbing Dorian's back or look away from him.

-/-

Chaol thinks that Dorian is asleep.

Dorian is not asleep, but he wants to be. He's trying to be. His body hurts, and he's freezing and shaking, which sort of makes this difficult, but he's never been so grateful in his life to be awake.

Chaol thinks that Dorian is asleep. Dorian is sure of this, because as soon as the healer and the other woman leave, he feels Chaol pull him closer, rest his chin on top of Dorian's head. He's humming under his breath, something that Dorian has only ever heard him do when he's sure that Dorian isn't listening (or, more accurately, is either not in earshot or is passed out asleep).

A few minutes go by. Maybe a few hours. Dorian does end up dozing off, thanks to Chaol's warmth. When he jolts awake an uncertain amount of time later, he doesn't bother telling Chaol, because Chaol is already talking.

Chaol still thinks that Dorian is asleep, though. Dorian isn't sure how he knows this, but he's entirely positive. He's tired, though, and he would really like to be asleep, so he doesn't bother interrupting Chaol. He does blink his eyes open, glad that his face is buried in Chaol's neck where Chaol can't see. It's dark outside - they've really been sitting here for a while. That makes sense. Dorian isn't shivering anymore. The aching in his body has toned down to an almost tolerable level.

_My fever's broken_ , he realizes.

He's tired, still, but that's acceptable compared to how he felt earlier. He'll take being tired over how he felt a few hours (maybe more than that) ago.

Dorian closes his eyes, let's the warmth radiating from the strong arms around him overtake his senses again. One of Chaol's hands is resting on his shoulder, and his thumb is going back and forth, sometimes even brushing over the skin of his neck where his thumb goes past the collar of Dorian's shirt. Sleep nearly claims Dorian once again, Chaol's quiet voice soothing in it's rhythm and familiarity, his gentle hands distracting from the slight ache and dizziness of illness that Dorian's been left with. Still, though, Dorian fights it as Chaol keeps talking, humming apparently long forgotten.

It doesn't make a lot of sense at first, but something just tells Dorian that it's important. That he should stay awake and listen. Chaol is talking about random things, at first, on the tail end of a story about some screw up that the guards had a few weeks ago. He doesn't actually sound mad, and that's how Dorian knows that it's been worked out. There's a hint of a smile in Chaol's voice, even.

Chaol pauses after he wraps up his story with a chuckle and, "Brullo was just so pissed at the new recruits. I've never seen his face so red before." The pause stretches on so long that Dorian nearly drifts back to sleep. But Chaol inhales a shallow, shaky breath just before Dorian is lost to sleep, and it snaps Dorian awake.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," Chaol is whispering before Dorian has time to process it, still kind of half-asleep as he is. There's no humor in his voice. It's all nervous anticipation now. "I leave for two days and I come back and you're missing. And then I find you, in bed where you should be, considering how awful you looked earlier, and I'm sure that you're going to freeze to death." His arms tighten around Dorian again, though Dorian isn't sure that Chaol knows he's doing it. "I know how convinced you are that all the other princes we've met are boring, and that might be true." Chaol pauses to chuckle. "But you can't scare me like that just to liven things up around here, you know? It's not good for me."

Dorian is not at all sure where Chaol is going with this, but Chaol seems to have an idea.

"You scared me half to death, you know. We've done almost everything together our whole lives, looked out for each other our whole lives, so it can't be a fever that does you in, Dorian. You can't do that to me."

Chaol pauses for a few minutes. Dorian's sure that his lecture isn't over yet. It doesn't matter. He is awake enough now to be sure that he's perfectly happy listening to Chaol go on about how he can't die as long Chaol keeps holding him like this. (This is a lie - holding him like this or not, Dorian would listen to Chaol go on about the guard rotations in the city for hours just to see the way that it makes his eyes light up. He could talk about gardening and Dorian would probably listen just because it's Chaol.)

"Of course it's me, the boring one, that falls in love with the one prince who's sole complaint about other princes is that they're _too_ boring," Chaol chuckles. It's a little darker than Chaol's sense of humor usually is, but Dorian's too hung up on the _in love_ part to chide him for it. His hands are still slowly drawing circles on Dorian's back and side, and as relaxing as it is, he's no longer in any kind of danger of falling asleep.

Chaol doesn't know this, though. "I know you're asleep, Dorian, but you don't get to die on me before I work up the nerve to tell you that. I will, one of these days. I promise."

Dorian can't help himself. It's not entirely fair of him to do this - the right thing to do would probably be to allow Chaol's ministrations and calm voice put him back to sleep, just like they almost had before, and then jump on his dumbass best friend as soon as his fever breaks, but Dorian isn't exactly thinking straight, and he can't believe that this, of _all the possible moments_ , is the one that Chaol picks to - to tell him that... Dorian shakes his head. _What the hell is he thinking?_

"Well," Dorian starts, pausing because it comes out with a cough (so maybe his fever has come down, but apparently the coughing hasn't gone away), hating himself for screwing this up before even being a word in, "why put off until tomorrow what you're trying to do right now?"

Chaol jumps rather spectacularly. If it wouldn't send Dorian into a fit of coughing, and he had the energy, he'd probably be laughing his ass off. does not know how to process this turn of events, and if Dorian wasn't sprawled across him, he would probably already be gone, the door banging shut behind him. " _What_? I thought you were _asleep_ \- you heard - what?"

He keeps spluttering for maybe an entire minute, and Dorian lets him, because he picked a really fine moment to pull some shit like this.

Dorian takes pity on him, though. It's because he's in love with him. (Chaol might be acting like a dumbass, but that makes him Dorian's dumbass. This is not a new development.) "I believe you said that you're in love with me, yes."

When Chaol doesn't say anything, Dorian sighs and sits himself up so that he can look Chaol in the eyes. He's glad to notice that he can actually support his own weight. His arms tremble just a little, but it's nothing like it was before he fell asleep.

It's dark enough in the room that shadows are being thrown across the walls. The sun is setting outside, but it's clearly late enough that the view is on the other side of the palace right now. All Dorian can really see is Chaol's face in the dim light, which would be great - it does wonders for his jawline - if he didn't look so terrified. The expression on Chaol's face is everything that Dorian's been feeling for years, ever since he came to terms with how he feels about the man in front of him, and something inside Dorian aches for Chaol.

Instead of giving him shit about his timing - which he really wants to do, so this requires a great amount of restraint and the promise that he will do so once Chaol isn't looking like he's going to pass out from shock - Dorian gives him a small and minimally cheeky smile. "You could've stopped freaking out long enough to let me tell you that I love you, too, you know."

Chaol's jaw drops.

Dorian presses the hand that isn't still tangled in Chaol's shirt to his own chest, feigning offense. "What? It was just a suggestion. You don't have to act so surprised. It isn't my fault you wouldn't let me get a word in."

Chaol blinks at him. Once. Twice. Three times. He looks both incredulous and more thrown off than Dorian has ever seen him in his life.

Dorian wants to say something. He decides to wait. It really looks like Chaol needs a second to process.

"You - you love me?" Chaol finally gets out a few seconds later.

Dorian just narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side. He gives Chaol the best shit-eating grin he can manage. "I really, simply must to put up with your dramatic speeches like this."

Chaol rolls his eyes, throws his head back against the back of the couch. "You scared the shit out of me, you know," he gripes, turning his head to look at Dorian without sitting up again.

"Oh, please." Dorian's sure to overexaggerate his mock annoyance so that Chaol won't think he's being serious. "Only one of us woke up to discover their best friend confessing their undying love because they were sure that _I was asleep_ today."

Chaol chuckles. He has the grace to look considerably sheepish. "In my defense - "

"No, no, no - you would have very miserably lived out the rest of our lives without saying a damn word if you hadn't thought I was asleep."

Chaol's face flames so red that Dorian can see it, even as dark as the room is. His gulp is audible. The fear that had vanished from his face is in his eyes once again. "That is an entirely fair point." He narrows his eyes at Dorian. There's a look of uncertainty in them that Dorian has never seen before, and he quickly decides that he never wants to see it again. Chaol's voice doesn't sound like his own when he asks, "So what do we do now?"

Dorian raises his eyebrows. "Most people kiss after confessing their undying love for each other." At the look Chaol gives him, Dorian shakes his head, tilting up the corners of his mouth. "There's no way you're getting whatever's made me so ill because you decide to be a romantic fool." He quirks his mouth to the side, giving Chaol an appraising look. "Or, at least, more of one than you've already proven to be."

Instead, Dorian wordlessly squirms around until he's once again leaning entirely against Chaol. Chaol's arms tighten around him again and Dorian lets himself be enveloped in the familiar warmth. "I'm going to go back to sleep, and you're going to go to sleep, because you look like you haven't slept in several days, and then you owe me a kiss the moment that the healers say that I'm back to normal."

Chaol laughs, squeezing Dorian's shoulder. "Whatever you say, Your Highness," he murmurs, brushing a kiss over Dorian's temple.

A few minutes later, when they decide that the couch isn't comfortable enough now that Dorian is no longer in danger of dying from fever, Chaol stands, holding Dorian tight to his chest. Dorian doesn't put up a fuss about Chaol carrying him from the couch to the bed, and Chaol just holds Dorian tighter as he realizes how tired that means Dorian is.

Dorian's eyes drift closed as Chaol moves the blankets on the bed so that they can lay down on top of them. Still holding him tightly, Chaol rearranges the blankets that he'd wrapped around Dorian earlier to cover them both.

"I'm going to hold you to that, you know," Chaol whispers when they're settled on the bed. His arms are wrapped around Dorian, and Dorian's pressed against Chaol's side, his head resting on Chaol's shoulder. "That kiss that I owe you."

Dorian can hear the uncertainty in Chaol's voice, but he doesn't bring it up. Instead, he presses himself closer to Chaol, trying to ignore the way his body has started to shiver again. "I'm counting on it, Chaol."

Chaol kisses the top of his head. "Even if you don't remember any of this because of the fever?"

"You'll just have to convince me I wasn't dreaming." His words are slurred, but Dorian can't manage to keep the coy tone out of his voice. "You'll figure something out, I'm sure."

"Anything for you, Dorian."

-/-

Neither of them really remember falling asleep, but when they wake up, everything is still different.

Dorian has stopped shivering. Chaol is still holding him tightly. There's sunlight streaming in through the windows across the room from the bed.

They're still in love.

Chaol wakes up first, and when Dorian finally blinks his eyes open, the first thing that Dorian sees is the fear in Chaol's eyes. At first, it doesn't make sense - they're still pressed together, still wrapped up in a pile of blankets, and Dorian just wants to enjoy the warmth of Chaol's embrace. But he knows, suddenly, that Chaol is afraid of being pushed away, and there might really be a way for them to both get what they need.

"Good morning," Dorian whispers, voice hoarse from sleep and all the coughing he'd been doing. His chest no longer hurts, there's no burn when he breathes, and so maybe that means that he's done coughing. That's a good sign, he's sure. "How did you sleep?"

Chaol blinks really hard. This clearly isn't what he was expecting, and while it would be easy to go off on a tangent about how Chaol really should have more faith in him, Dorian knows that he needs to refrain from doing so. Chaol needs to be shown, not told, because it'll never stick that way.

"I - I slept, um - I slept well."

Dorian nods against Chaol's shoulder. "I did, too. I think we were asleep for quite a while, though." He stretches his toes, tightens what muscles he can without moving in an experimental fashion. Everything seems to be in working order. A yawn breaks up what he says after that, and it's rather effective at proving his next point, irritating as it might be. His eyes water from the force of it, but he laughs anyway. "Maybe I need some more sleep."

When Chaol nods, his jaw - which, now that they've been asleep for so long, is rough with stubble - brushes against Dorian's forehead. He sounds winded when he replies, "Maybe."

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Dorian punctuates this with another yawn, curling into Chaol a little more at the shudder that goes through him as a result. "It's up to you."

"We can go back to sleep." There's a pause, then, and then: "But I can move if you want me to."

Dorian says nothing; he just shakes his head and clenches his fingers around a fistful of Chaol's shirt. It seems a little silly, but he's tired, and it is a rather effective method - Chaol chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest and making Dorian smile, and promises, "I'll stay, then."

"You damn well better."

This gets a real laugh out of Chaol. "I love you." The words make Dorian's heart soar, but it seems like Chaol didn't mean to say them. His entire body tenses up a second later. "I - "

"I love you, too," Dorian interrupts as gently as he can, effectively cutting Chaol off before he can work himself into a panic. "I always have." When this doesn't seem to be enough to talk Chaol out of whatever's banging around between the side of his skull, he resists the urge to sit up and lecture him. It isn't hard - the thought of Chaol so distressed makes his chest ache in a completely different way. "I always will."

The tension drains out of Chaol as quickly as it had overtaken him, and then he yawns.

They go back to sleep. Dorian can lecture Chaol about pushing himself so hard in the last few days - among other things, Dorian's absolutely positive that that's why Chaol's so exhausted, and he's definitely getting an earful about that - when they wake up. They can worry about the rest later.

What matters now is that they have each other, and as Chaol and Dorian drift to sleep again, arms wound tightly around one another, it's enough to keep everything else at bay. The kingdom, Dorian's father, Chaol's family... All of it can wait. They have each other, and that's what's important.

 


End file.
